#if you say no ur a liar ur literally into ff7

[vvingless-warrior]

The Emissary Refusal

Zack x Aerith; 1117 words

I really hope that is final letter that I am writing gets to you.

Mellow Mako-eyes with dark bags under them read the letter over and over again, that one specific sentence written on a dagger that was stabbing him in the chest, causing the nausea inducing heartache with ever time it was repeated in his head- in her voice. He wasn’t capable of hearing his own voice and drown hers out even when he tried it out loud. It only made it worse, if anything.

Zack finally put a stop to his masochistic loop of driving the paper-knife deeper and deeper as his hand sunk and the letter rested on his chest, limb falling loosely into the patch of grass to his right between himself and Cloud as they lay there, the subtly clouded sky, some of the mist covering the near full moon with the occasional bit passing through far above where his imagination could reach the horizon providing a view created to be enjoyed together. 

But not with a friend, not with family, but your lover.

She’d given up on him, she vagued in her letter. Her last one. But Zack hadn’t. Giving up had never been his thing, and it would never be. He was a man of his word, and he’d return to her. He knew she still prayed for his safety, there was no way she wouldn’t be, even after four years that could provide enough time to get over an adolescent romantic experience. She had to know he was still out there, optimistic and full of energy. Zack, flirtatious and adventurous. Zack, selfless and doing everything to help someone, save someone. Zack, breathing and alive dammit!

Zack, crying with his eyes pinched shut, for he refused to see the starry sky without Aerith.

He didn’t know when they fell shut, or when thin trails of liquidated warmth began to trickle down the sides of his face, but as he realized it, he didn’t even try to hold back. Cloud could see him break, crack open and let it out- with all they’ve been through, he’d understand, right?

Even if he wouldn’t, Zack couldn’t care less. Despite that, his paroxysm of longing and midnight melancholy wasn’t audible. It was silent. No sob, no sniffling to be heard of him, though he wasn’t holding back, either. Letting it out was… surprisingly peaceful. Like he was saying goodbye for good, forever- but not to her. There was no need to. And when the time did come to bid a farewell, when he’d finally get the wings he dreamed of having in short whiled sleep, he wanted to say it to her in person, holding her hand, send her off with a smile on his lips.

One that spoke of happiness, not tragedy. One that spoke of optimism and the ambition he carried throughout his life, not loss and depression, sadness to fill her with grief. It was the last thing he wanted, and it’s why getting back to Midgar, no matter what it would cost, was of utmost importance to him.

Aerith was so, so very important to him.

His tears suddenly felt colder, heavier. They didn’t just run down his face, they didn’t only stem from his eyes anymore, and as the sound of rustling leaves due to the liquid wrath of the upcoming storm hid the flora not too far from and all around them, Zack’s eyes shot open so a hand could grab and protect the already stained letter. “Shit-!” He cursed, sitting up with the need to act, and no time to think. He let go again reflexively to take care of getting Cloud to a dry and safer place, the heroism still burning bright inside him, but the loneliness that coexisted with it took over when the paper hit the ground.

He gritted his teeth and hoisted his blond companion, still rendered immobile from the overdose of Mako coursing through him, over his shoulder. Zack didn’t stand up straight immediately, instead reaching for the letter, the only memoir left of her in his possession. He wasn’t fast enough before it flew off with the relentless wind that mercilessly made his stressful life a little harder.

“Wh- hey!”, Zack yelled after the mail that twisted and turned and dipped in height with every drop of water that hit it and smudged the writing more and more. He jumped to his feet, combat boots squeaking against the damp grass as he navigated through the open field into the nearby woods the paper lured him into.

His lungs burned with every sharp inhale he took chasing down one of the last threads that kept his sanity pieced together to not fall apart just yet. And when he found it, the knife had moved from his mind to exactly that, cutting yet another loose, picking it apart at the seams to come undone. The raven panted when he stood before the sad, soaked piece of paper, writing unintelligible, washed away, diluted in the tears of the steel sky.

Shaky legs collapsed and the warrior dropped to his knees. He reached out a gloved hand to pick it up from the mud and grass that mother nature used to claim what once was a letter meant for him as her own. Zack’s eyes narrowed, eyebrows knitted together as he clutched it tightly in his grip, not damaging it any more than what already had been done, and could not be undone.

He leaned over, slowly, until his forehead touched the ground and his torso shielded that particular spot from any more of the Gods’ tears, an apology mouthed and yet unable to be spoken aloud due to a choked sob occupying his vocal chords when Cloud hit the ground next to him. He surrendered to the forces above. What choice did he have when all they did was take away the only things left in his life?

Zack clenched his fists, banging one on the ground as the tears that streamed down rapidly and off the tip off his nose formed a small puddle underneath his face. He shook with anger and the chill the trees refused to keep from him, weeps and pained sobs extracted from the last bit of energy he had left in him.

“Why…?”, he asked. Quietly, cowardly sounding, in his opinion, before forcing himself up to his knees and face the Gods looking down upon him, “WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME!?”

But no answer. No response, no words to grace him with. Neither from the Gods, nor from Cloud, nor from Aerith.

And never again would it be him who was to hear the angel’s voice.